Roofer Makes Surprising Discovery Hidden in Elderly Woman’s Chimney
Roofer Discovered a Secret Stash Hidden in the Chimney of an Elderly Poor Woman
Elderly Nancy hesitantly accepts assistance from a local roofer after decades of quiet dignity in her dilapidated Victorian home. But when he is found in the chimney of the house where she grew up, she is forced to face a terrible family history that she has been avoiding since her father’s terrible death.
Being the neighborhood’s guardian angel was never my intention. After everything that transpired with the roof and what we discovered within, that title was added. It’s funny how life goes; sometimes the most significant transformations occur just when you believe you have nothing more to offer.
When Daddy was alive, my Victorian home on Maple Street was a unique place. The porch now sags like weary shoulders, and the paint peels like scorched skin.
However, it has been our home since 1952, when Daddy moved us in with all the pride of a peacock dressed for Sunday.
“Nancy,” dad would remark, fixing his bow tie in our front door’s beveled glass, “keep in mind that honesty is more valuable than wealth.”
Not truly comprehending what he meant, I would nod. At any rate, not then.
Like myself, the house had seen better days. I poured myself into keeping the place up after my divorce from Thomas (“It’s not you, Nancy, it’s just… there’s someone else”). However, everything, including resolve, wears away with time.
Sometimes, with a worried expression on her face, Mrs. Chen from next door would bring me dumplings. “Nancy, you put in too much labor. Allow your kids to assist.
“No children to help,” I would respond, smiling as if I had practiced. “Just me and the house now.”
I always got a worried pat on the hand and an additional serving of dumplings for that.
Early that year, the winter rains found every crevice in my ancient roof. Water dripped into a series of pots and mixing bowls while I stood in the kitchen, each pinging like a little hammer on my pride.
I whispered to myself, “This just won’t do,”
I spoke to myself more often than not these days. Especially after 72 years of existence and one unsuccessful marriage that I try not to think about anymore, being alone will do that to you.
One morning Robert saw me fiddling with the pots. He had a roofing company that kept him well occupied, and he lived three doors down. Sometimes I would watch him leave early in his white vehicle with tools banging in the back.
He yelled, “Ms. Nancy,” as he crossed my property. “Couldn’t help but notice you’ve got yourself a problem up there.”
In an attempt to appear more put together than I actually felt, I smoothed my cardigan. “Oh, Robert, it’s nothing serious. A few drips here and there, please.
He put his fists on his hips and squinted up at my roof. If those ‘few drips’ aren’t fixed, they’ll become more serious issues. Let me assist you.
“I couldn’t possibly—”
“No charge,” he said, interrupting with a rough hand.
“Consider it payback for all those times you watched my kids when Sarah was sick.”
My throat constricted. “Really, Robert? Were the cookies I made sufficient compensation?
“This is different,” he laughed, “even though those chocolate chip cookies might have been worth their weight in gold.” Not all services have a cost associated with them. Do you remember spending the entire night with Tommy when he got the flu?
Yes, I did recall.
Back then, Tommy was tiny and raging with fever. Robert appeared on the verge of passing out from anxiety, while Sarah was in the hospital herself.
He said, “Ms. Nancy,” in a kind but firm tone, “sometimes you have to let people help you, just like you’ve been helping people around here for years.”
The ping of another leak in my kitchen decided for me, even if I wanted to dispute. “Well, if you’re sure it’s no trouble…”
Robert arrived the following morning with his equipment and ladder. I repelled the kids from the neighborhood who had gathered to watch him work by promising them freshly baked cookies later.
Little Maria Martinez, with her hair bouncing as she skipped, exclaimed, “My dad says you’re the nicest lady on the street.”
I said, “Your daddy’s too kind,” but her words rekindled a part of me that had been cooled by the years.
Robert crossed my roof with the confidence of someone who had done this a thousand times before, while I watched from below. His tools were caught in the morning sun, which sent short bursts of light like Morse code over the yard.
“Everything okay up there?” When he fell silent for too long, I yelled.
He hollered back, “Just checking your chimney,” again. “Wait a minute… there’s something—”
I winced at the sound of bricks scrapping against bricks. Then there was quiet.
Robert remained silent despite the gentle noises coming from the roof. When his voice carried down, I was beginning to worry.
“Ms. Nancy?” In some way, Robert’s voice had tightened. “I think you better see this.”
Carefully he descended, holding something to his chest. It wasn’t until he got to the bottom of the ladder and turned to face me that I realized what it was. A leather bag, black with dust and age, was in his hands.
A beat skipped in my chest. I instantly recognized it, even though I hadn’t seen it in years. Even though I knew what was inside, I still allowed him to show me.
The diamonds Daddy had bought before things went wrong gleamed like new snow, Mama’s antique jewelry glittered, and gold coins glinted in the sunlight.
Robert’s hands trembled a little. “This must be worth a fortune.”
I closely observed his face and could see the conflict unfolding behind his eyes.
He had three children at home, a mortgage to pay, and aspirations he had postponed in order to make ends meet. There was enough in that bag to make all the difference in his life.
He began, “I…” and then took a deep breath. “Ms. Nancy, this is yours. It belongs to you and your family.
I covered his hand with mine. “Robert Miller, you are a decent man. similar to my father.
His bewildered gaze met mine. “You knew about this?”
He followed me to my porch swing after I nodded. Before he passed away, Daddy concealed it there. He claimed that something didn’t feel right and that his business partners were becoming avaricious. When they evicted him from his own company a month later, he was shown to be correct.
However, why did you never make use of it? Struggling for years…”
As I watched Mrs. Peterson’s children play hopscotch across the street, I grinned. “Because my father also taught me that life isn’t worth living for the money. I decided to become wealthy in other ways.
“Like what?” The bag was heavy in Robert’s lap as he asked quietly.
“Like Tommy’s initial grin following the break of his illness. Like Maria’s mother studying English in my kitchen while sipping coffee, or seeing Sarah get better and knowing that I was at least somewhat helpful.” I gave him a hand pat. “Like having neighbors who notice when my roof leaks.”
For a while, Robert sat in silence. “I suppose I understand your perspective. However, Ms. Nancy, you cannot simply let something sit in your chimney. How would you like to use it?
“I think,” I continued slowly, “it’s time to use this money.” just as Daddy would have desired.
Robert assisted me in selling everything over the course of the following few weeks, and I gave it to the families in my community. There was enough money for the Martinez family to send their eldest to college.
Mrs. Martinez objected, “But Ms. Nancy,” with tears in her eyes, “this is too much!”
Telling her, “Education was everything to my father,” “Let’s honor that.”
Finally, the Wilsons’ roof was fixed as well. The playground received the long-needed safety surfacing, and the community center received new computers. Every present had a narrative about my father, honesty, and community.
I told Robert, “You have to take some,” when it was nearly empty. “For your honesty, if nothing else.”
He made an effort to say no, but I ignored him.
“Your integrity is worth more than gold,” I stated to him, “but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be rewarded for it.”
After then, the neighborhood was different. Not significantly—the streets still required maintenance, and the residences were still ancient. However, there was a shift in the atmosphere, a sense of hope.
Little Amy came running up one evening with a bunch of dandelions when I was sitting on my porch watching the sunset.
After saying, “These are for you,” she pushed them into my grasp. “Mommy says you’re our guardian angel.”
Tucking one of the yellow blooms behind her ear, I giggled. “No, my love. I’m merely someone who discovered that giving away is more valuable than keeping things.
With seriousness, she inquired, “Like your cookies?”
“Like my cookies,” I gave my consent. “And like the love that goes into making them.”
I pondered Robert’s decision to be honest, Daddy’s teachings on integrity, and the various ways money may be quantified as I watched her skip home.
